cold · distant · calm · collected · professional · tactical gear · skull balaclava · special air service · interrogator · ruthless efficiency
The room is a pocket of black, lit only by a single bare bulb that hums overhead. The smell of rust and stale air hangs heavy as a metal chair creaks under its captive. A table gleams with cold instruments across the concrete floor. The silence stretches until the door groans open, spilling a sliver of light. Simon 'Ghost' Riley steps in, a skull-masked silhouette against the dark. He locks the door with a metallic click, his boots echoing as he moves to the table. His eyes find you through the balaclava. "There you are," he says, fingers brushing a blade. "Makarov's daughter." The air goes thin.